


Snowflakes

by Southbroom



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Post-Season/Series 07 Finale, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 09:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11986875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Southbroom/pseuds/Southbroom
Summary: It is the night before the Great War. Jaime and Brienne share a tender moment.





	Snowflakes

Ser Davos Seaworth was the only truly _amiable_ person that Brienne had met who originated from King’s Landing. She had, of course, met her fair share of loathsome nobility in the Red Keep; but it occurred to her that none of them actually originated from the city. Most of the obnoxious knights from Renly’s camp had come from Fleabottom; and so did Davos and Gendry, however, there was nothing vaguely obnoxious or loathsome about either of the men.

Brienne sat beside the Onion Knight and opposite the blacksmith in question. She was finding their conversation much too enjoyable considering the sombre mood of the evening.

Davos had his stubble grown into a thick white beard. When the man smiled and told his stories it gave Brienne a warm and familiar feeling. She thought it was because the man somewhat resembled her own father, if only in appearance. Lord Selwyn of Tarth was much like Brienne herself: completely unable to compete against the charm of people like Ser Davos.

“What did Jon say? Tomorrow we make history. Good history or bad history; but history either way.” Gendry said, downing his cup. "I think-"

“I think you should stop whimpering, boy. I have heard enough inspirational shite for one fucking night.” The Hound snapped. His big form struggled out of the bench and through the doors of the hall.

“Remind me again, who pissed in his ale?” Gendry asked.

“I may be mistaken, but I think he is always in that temperament.” Jorah Mormont observed.

“Nah, Clegane’s a kitten underneath all that…” Davos trailed off, “All men are something other than themselves the night before a battle. For me personally, I never sleep a wink.”

“Then what do you do all night long?” Brienne questioned.

“Stroll a bit, take a look at the pretty stars, read… That last one only recently.”

“This is going to be my first battle after the Blackwater.” Podrick said.

“This is going to be my first battle ever.” Gendry added, “I think I’ll finish all the ale I can find to get pissed. Then I’ll pass out for sure, hopefully. You never get nightmares when you are drunk.”

“You should not drink too much, Gendry.”

“Relax. I’ll be bright and chirpy for the white fuckers in the morning. What about you, Lady Brienne? Sleeping it off or staying awake in fear like old Davos here?”

 “I’ll get my rest.” Brienne assured the men. “I always do.”

“You can sleep after you saw that thing in the Dragonpit?”

“Like a baby.” Brienne said to Jorah, as serious as ever, “There were things more frightful than White Walkers in that Dragonpit.”

“Aye, the Mountain!” Gentry exclaimed, “Clegane’s monster brother. You know, I always thought he was the big brother, but then I saw that thing all dressed in black with its two red eyes gleaming out under it's helmet. It made me was to run for the hills.”

Brienne shuddered when she thought of the creature in the black armour, but she was referring to the other creature in black. Brienne considered Queen Cersei’s sour stares a great deal more unsettling than the beady eyes of the Moutain. Cersei’s gaze held promises of torture in ways beyond what Brienne’s sword could defend against. She did not even want to begin to imagine what horrors Jaime experienced while he has still loyal to his sister. 

Gendry was about to give his opinion on Davos’s idea of a Clegane brothers duel, but then Ayra Stark slid into the space next to him on the bench. “Where is the Kingslayer?” she demanded, hands finding a knife on the table and flipping it skilfully between her fingers.

Brienne was affronted that Ayra would assume _she_ would knew where he was hiding away, until the girl elaborated: “Sansa asked. Apparently Lord Tyrion wanted to know why he is not attending the feast.”

“I do not know Ser Jaime’s whereabouts.” Brienne said firmly. She felt Ayra’s eyes bore into her’s until the girl decided to drop it. She turned around to singled Lady Sansa a “Brienne doesn’t know either” gesture. Then faced Gendry and Ser Davos.

“The Hound would most certainly win in that duel.” Ayra declared, inviting a storm of disagreements from the knights at the table.

The girl had obviously been bored at the high table, having been seated with only Lady Sansa and Lady Mormont for company. Brienne understood the young girl’s frustration as she too felt more at home drinking ale with the soldiers than sipping wine with the ladies. Ayra smiled wolfishly as she debated.

Brienne’s eyes found Daenerys and Jon, seated in the middle of the high table. The Queen had a soft expression on her face as she surveyed the crowded hall in from of her. Lord Varys and Lord Tyrion were speaking to her, but not about anything serious, Brienne could tell. Jon had affectionately rested his hand on Daenery’s, subconsciously making circles in her palm.

Brienne found herself wondering where Jaime would sit at the table if he was present. Beside his brother? Or would he sit beside her and rest of the soldiers? Where was the Kingslayer anyway?

Brienne found Winterfell's library and small hall both abandoned. A brief visit to his chambers held no promise either, so she was forced to search outside the castle walls. She found him there, of course. As isolated as ever, he was sitting on one of the castle walls.

He smiled lightly when she settled beside him, but only to be polite. His face returned to its now-usual downcast disposition.

“You have to eat.” she told him, sticking out a stolen roll from underneath her furs. He took it hesitantly.

“Thank you.” Jaime said, staring out at the horizon.

Brienne followed his gaze and found herself looking at the spooky head of the Broken Tower - that same tower that she had spent half a year looking at waiting for a frightened girl to light a candle in the top window. Lady Sansa was not that girl she found with Theon in the forest anymore. Brienne felt proud of what her lady had become. A well-tempered leader who had managed to eliminate her demons - Ramsay, Littlefinger. Brienne had once told Lady Catelyn that she possessed a woman’s find of bravery. Sansa had the same gnetle, yet fierce aura that her mother possessed.

Jaime placed the whole roll to his mouth and bit a chunk out of it with difficulty. Northern breads were hard, hearty things by nature, but even more so when they were a few days old. It took Brienne a while to work out why he was eating it in such a mundane way until she remembered that he was maimed. His stump was hidden under ample layers of black leather and brown tweed, but there was still a visibly missing space where there should be a hand.

She tore the bread into bite-size pieces and placed them in his lap. He muttered another thanks and she was reminded of their dinner with Roose Bolton all those years ago. She had to help him eat back then too, helping him cut meat, pour wine. She recalled doing all sorts of little favours for him all the down to King’s Landing.

Once Jaime finished the bread he shook the crumbs from his gloved hand and sighed heavily. His shoulders dropped and he tilted his head up to the night sky. Brienne was stunned once again by his beauty: the hard lines of his jaw and the snowflakes in his mane.

“Are you thinking about-“ she hesitated, “-your sister?”

He turned to look at her. “No.”

“You may say that you are, Ser Jaime. I am not Queen Daenerys or Jon Snow. I wouldn’t-“ she faltered, cursing the sudden courage she had for bringing it up, “You must speak about- _talk about_ her to someone. It is not good to keep things bottled up.” she finished, averting his gaze.

“Has Tyrion sent you?”

“No. I simply thought that-“

“You do not have to explain why you’re here.” he said.

Brienne thanked the gods. She sometimes felt that she did not have enough intellect to cope with situations like that. _Not that there are situations like this_ , she heard herself think. Leaving a lifelong incestuous relationship was not heard of often. Especially if this sibling happened to the Queen of Westoros, and the Mad Queen for that; ferocious and demanding; cruel and cunning. And then this poor man had to arrive on the opposite side of the war only to be hated for his courage of switching sides.

“I was actually thinking about you.” Jaime said unexpectedly, “And of Brandon Stark.”

She watched her hands for a while, desperate for the blush to disappear from her face. He took no notice. “Bran?” She finally managed. She was perplexed at the mention of the youngest Stark’s name.

“I am a wicked man.” he said gloomily, “I am undeserving of the forgiveness your king and queen have shown me.”

“ _Your_ King and Queen?”

He shook his head, remembering that he bent the knee only that morning, “ _My_ king and queen, _our_ king and queen, _the_ king and queen, whatever. It matters not.”

“There is honour in you, Ser Jaime.” she said cautiously, “I have told you before. 

“But you do not know me.” he said angrily, “If you knew only a portion of the crimes I have committed…”

He looked haunted, almost like he had that day when they bathed together and she had to catch him when he fainted.

But the sudden mention of Bran Stark? Her curiosity sparked. Brienne had seen Jaime speak with Bran in the Godswood numerous times since his arrival at Winterfell, speaking in low voices and dejected faces.

She wondered if he would tell her what he and the young Stark were talking about. It occurred to Brienne that Jaime would only be sharing these things with her if he really had trust in her. And though she was itching to knew more about his obsession with Brandon Stark, she knew it was not the time to ask. She postponed her her questions and continued the conversation that they had had so often since his arrival. 

“I have seen more than a portion of the crimes that you have committed. I have also seen some of your heroism. Knowing both of these things, I still believe you to be a good man. You are a good man, Ser Jaime.” she said plainly.

He scoffed.

“Remember the bear pit at Harrenhal? And that night when you told the Bloody Mummers about the sapphires?” His remaining hand clasped his stump, “You have saved me more than I think you or I know. Not to mention all the things you have done for your brother.”

“I have been Tyrion’s bully just as often as I have been his saviour.”

“But what matters is now. You are not standing beside the Iron Throne to guard your sister anymore. You are in Winterfell, Ser Jaime, ready to fight for the living. You put your family’s feud with the Starks behind you. You put your prejudices against Deanerys’s people from Essos away. And you somehow convinced Daenerys to not hang you after the siege of Highgarden.”

“But you did that too.” he remained her. “Trusting the Dragon Queen blindly.”

“My Lady Sansa trusts Queen Daenerys. I simply followed suit. But you chose to come here completely by self-choice. You are not here for your brother, or because your sister is not here, or for any person at all, really. You came as yourself, Ser Jaime, as Jaime. Not as a Lannister or as a commander or as a knight, but as yourself.”

She jumped when he pressed his hand to her face.

“You poor idiot.” he smiled with pity, “That you have decided to side with me. Honourable, noble Brienne of Tarth would rather sit in the freezing cold with the Kingslayer than laugh inside with her friends on the last warm night of her life.”

“When did you become such a pessimist?” she asked, overly aware of how much her jaw moved under his hand as she spoke.

“I told you that you do not know me.” He smiled again, touching her cheek with his knuckles before removing his hand.

Overwhelmed and feeling abruptly shy, she looked at her feet. They were dangling in the air, forty feet above the floor of the Godswood.

Brienne remembered her Septa scolding her for rambling on more occasions than she could count, and yet there she was rambling futile praise to a broken man. She felt pathetic for saying the things she did, especially in the way she said them, but it only took a minute for her to find her confidence again.

Jaime he was whiter than he was the last time she looked. It was snowing heavily. Both his shoulders had a layer of white on them, resembling the tall towers of Winterfell.

His eyes remained fixed on the cloudy sky above them. His back buckled with their uncomfortable place on the wall, but his neck and jaw remained straight. And although he was battered and tiered, Brienne saw that his eyes were still bright in the dim evening light.

Out of nowhere, Brienne got a rush of bravery. She took his two misshaped hands - which were tucked between his legs for warmth - and covered them with her own. Before properly thinking about it, Brienne did what she was sure she had no skill with whatsoever. She pressed her lips to the soft skin below his cheekbone, and lingered there for a few frightful moments before pulling back.

Eagerly, her eyes danced over his face, examining his face for expression. He had closed his eyes when she lent in, but when he opened them he seemed as downcast as when she arrived. 

“We are going to die tomorrow.” he stated darkly and deliberately placed her hands back onto her lap.

A pang of hurt arose in her chest. Brienne shuffled back to her place beside him, not against him, wallowing in self-pity. _Well there you go_ , she thought, _There is my affection for you, if you ever had a doubt. It exists._

The obvious rejection made her think of Renly, of the king who would never be her’s. Brienne had spent many evenings in her chamber brooding over fate. For she was a servant. A pleasant face to have around, to stand guard at the door, but not the kind of face that handsome knights liked to be kissed by.

“The white walkers out-number us five to one. We have dragons, but so do they. And they can gain soldiers; where we can only lose them.” he paused, “I am a cripple. The only reason your Queen has not exiled me is because I promised to fight for her, yet I cannot yield a sword. I don’t doubt Jon Snow’s military tactics to defeat the Others; but I do doubt my skill. They said I am to fight in the front line. A _cripple_ on the front line.” he sneered, "I am certainly going to die tomorrow."

“But Brienne.” he spoke softly, “Even if this was not my last night in this world, I would still have done this.” 

And then it was his turn. With an incline of his head he mirrored her action, catching her corner of her mouth. She inhaled a gasp of frigid air, surprised by his sudden change of mood. Where he had touched her she could feel her face burning and her head spinning.

When he eventually pulled back, Jaime searched her face just as she had.

“I am sorry.” she heard herself say.

“Whatever for?” he asked, breaking into a small chuckle.

“It just came to mind. I don’t know.” she cast her eyes to her feet again, but he caught her jaw.

“You are not going to die tomorrow, Jaime.”

“Oh, wench. I really do admire your optimism-“

“You are not going to die tomorrow.” she repeated forcefully, “You are not going to die tomorrow because I am also on the front line. And if you doubt your swordsmanship, I will allow you to hide behind my skirts.”

He laughed. The sound cut through the crisp night air like a knife.

That time, they met in the middle. With the winds of winter singing high, they held each other close.

Jaime was timid. She though it was almost too soft. _How is it possible that he can be so gentle_? And Brienne felt like she was failing excessively, not knowing where to put her arms, if she pressing too hard. But then she felt his hand shiver against her neck, and she realised that he might be just as nervous as she was.

Her eyes were saucers when he pulled back. He only smiled, his face flushed in the icy air.

The second time round she could appreciate the moment more for what it was: innocent, new, and yes, intimate. By the forth time, she was completely lost. All there was in the world was his touch, his scent. His mischievous smiles between breaks made her insides twinge. They could have sat on that wall for minutes or for hours, she would never know.

When Brienne walked back to her chamber, she felt boneless. Her feet seemed to skip. They moved faster than her body, as if slipping on ice. 

“When should I wake you tomorrow, my Lady?” Podrick enquired.

“We can wake together with the morning bells.”

“At dawn? Forgive me, my lady, but is that not too late?”

“We’ll manage. King Snow said that we are to leave an hour after dawn. That is plenty of time for my - as well as your - armour.”

Brienne sat on her cot for a while before kicking off her boots. She pattered the snow from the leather and packed them beside the fire.

“My Lady?”

“Yes, Podrick?”

The squire shook his head, “No I was just wondering why… You were smiling, my Lady, that is all.”

“Sleep tight, Pod. This is our last warm night in a while.”

“Of course, my Lady.”

The snowflakes continued to fall thick against the window pane, clouding the remaining evidence of the night from view. A hundred leagues away, an army of monsters stood waiting. Unmoving, unblinking, their doom waited.

Under the thick of her covers, Brienne lay listening to the blizzard, thinking about the monsters, having debates in her head. _We may just die tomorrow, but Tomorrow remains the stuff of legends_ , Brienne prophesied. She was ready for it. She was sure that in another forlorn corner of the castle, Jaime was staring at the ceiling too. Together, they were ready for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, did I had fun writing this! This was the first time I wrote a kiss scene. More fics are [probably] on their way because I have to cope through this long night until Season 7 in some or other way. I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
